Gum Wrappers
by Queen Bookworm the First
Summary: QLFC Round 9


**Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: Round 8**

Team: Wimbourne Wasps

Position: Beater 2

**Prompt: **Don't Stop Me Now by Queen — "La da da da daah"

**Optional Prompts:**

7\. [colour] royal purple

14\. [dialogue] "I want to lead the Victorian life, surrounded by exquisite clutter."

12\. [word] drugs

Thank you to Esme and Hope for betaing!

* * *

Alice grips the edge of her bed, swaying back and forth. She looks up at the nurse with a wan smile, milky blue eyes drifting open and shut.

"What's all—" The nurse pauses for a moment, searching for the right word. "What's all _this_?" She waves her hand at the bed.

Purple gum wrappers are strewn across the white bed sheets, some folded into perfect little squares, others crumpled up into glimmering balls. They are arranged in different shapes; a wand lays near the pillow, a triangle at Alice's side, and a small bird with its wings extended at the foot of the bed.

"My… my company," Alice says, tilting her head as uncertainty clouds her gaze. "Beaut—beautiful." She emphasizes the _ful_.

The nurse stares at her, thin lips parted. She blinks once, then twice before she's pushed out of the way by an older lady.

The woman's gray hair is combed into an elegant chignon. Her eyes are a warm caramel, which would have been comforting had they not been so piercing. A hat with a stuffed vulture rests precariously on her head. She sweeps her deep red robes behind her and puts her hands on her hips, _tsk_ing as she eyes the nurse. "Augusta Longbottom. New here?"

"Er… yes," the nurse stammers, cheeks stained a bright red. She fiddles with her fingers, bowing her head against the force of the woman's glower. "Did you check-in at the, er, at the visitor's desk?"

Augusta merely arches a thin brow, her eyes narrowing. "Would I be here if I didn't?"

The nurse clamps her lips together, quivering.

"Out," Augusta says, her voice brusque.

The nurse scurries out of the room without another word, closing the door behind her gently.

Augusta sits at the edge of the bed and removes her hat, sighing. _If only I could get them out of this place,_ she thinks.

"Who are you?" Alice asks, playing with the buttons of her gown.

Augusta pushes down her frown and manages to give her daughter-in-law a weak smile. "Augusta, dear. Your mother-in-law."

"Oh." Alice blinks. "Nice to… nice to meet you."

Augusta takes Alice's hand between hers and grips it tightly. Against her will, she searches for a faint glimmer of recognition, a sign that will tell her that somewhere under the gown, somewhere beneath her constantly drugged state, the old Alice remains.

But it never comes, and Augusta feels foolish for ever clinging on to hope.

_But little Neville's at home, waiting for the day that his mama and papa will walk down the cobbled path to Longbottom Manor, waiting for the day he'll have parents, waiting for a day that will never come_, she reminds herself.

So Augusta hopes for him.

Eyes roving over the wrappers covering the bed, she says, "Now, what's all this nonsense?"

"Royal purple," Alice replies, her voice an awed hush as she surveys the wrappers.

"A color befitting your name," Augusta murmurs. "Noble."

And what a noble lioness she had been. Augusta remembers the first time she saw Alice. The memory of it remains fresh in her mind, like a spot of sunlight on a shadowed path.

Alice's hair tumbled over her back in bouncing brown curls.

(Now it's cropped short, the gleam lost, the curls sagging forlornly against her scalp.)

Alice's face was round and glowing pink with all the freshness of youth.

(Now it's pale and sunken, cheekbones jutting out, and the only time it has any color is when she gets frustrated.)

Alice's smile was all full pink lips and pearly white teeth, every upturned curve ethereal and hopeful, so hopeful that you would've thought that she was always happy and would always be happy.

(Now it's always halfway up, like the muscles can't muster the energy to go all the way, like all the hope has been drained out.)

Alice's eyes were bright blue and alight with life, drinking in every sight before her with an unbridled eagerness.

(Now they are shuttered and dimmed by drugs, and the only thing they see are white walls, white beds, and purple wrappers.)

Alice's voice was light and chipper, the words lilting in a cheerful melody.

(Now it's soft and bland, and half the words are "la da da da daah" in the same lilting melody, only it sounds more melancholic than happy now.)

It's like all the nobleness has been washed away, like a child's drawing in the sand. The waves of the Cruciatus curse and the drugs they've been feeding her tore over every crevice, every nook and corner of the old Alice Longbottom and left a hollowed shell behind, a clean spread of sand that no child will draw in again.

"I want—" Alice pauses for a long time, a signal that she's trying to work her mind around a long sentence. "I want to live the Victorian life, surrounded by exquisite clutter." She gestures around the bed dramatically before gathering her gum wrappers. She begins to arrange them into new shapes, singing under her breath, "La da da da daah."

"I wish I could give you the Victorian life," Augusta says, her lips inching up into a wistful smile. Guilt strikes her heart like a barbed arrow.

She lives her life behind the tall, gilded gates of Longbottom Manor, in a world where gum wrappers are reduced to nothing more than trash, in a world where everything isn't a cold stark white. Her "exquisite clutter" is made of shimmering jewels, ornate portraits, and velvet robes.

She lives the Victorian life.

But she would give it all to Alice, she would give it all away, if it would make her better. She would give it all up in a heartbeat.

But jewels and portraits and fancy robes won't make Alice better. Not even the drugs or potions will, even though the doctors at St. Mungo's insist on stuffing them into her system.

They all just make her a skeleton under the gown, stripping away all the things that made Alice _Alice. _

So Augusta visits every week, hoping that someday Neville will get his parents back, hoping that someday they'll be able to live the Victorian life together.

And every week, her hope crumples, like one of Alice's gum wrappers.


End file.
